Trials and Tribulations
by Tabii
Summary: It isn't an easy road, revolution. Just ask the American colonies. Mentions of violence, starvation, England generally being a scary empire. Nasty things happen in future chapters. Vague USxLots of people, including England and Prussia. Wiki'd history.
1. Siege

"Hello, Poppet."

Massachusetts spits in his face, her green eyes glaring. England doesn't flinch, however. He's dealt with mutinies before. He takes the handkerchief from his pocket and wipes the saliva from his cheek, still smiling.

"What a way to greet your father. After all I've done for you, you can't manage a pleasant 'good evening, England?'"

"I hate you."

"It's the accommodations, isn't it? Well, I'm sorry, but you were causing so much trouble that you _had _to be tied up. But don't worry, poppet, I'll untie you once you prove that you won't do anything foolish, and then you and I will live peaceably in this house together."

"In _my_ house? Never! Get the hell out!"

A sharp _smack _seems to echo in the small bedroom. England isn't smiling anymore.

"You'll refrain from using such language, Sarah," he spits, "Despite the fact that I let you sail ships and learn math and science, you are still a lady and you will act as such."

"Ladies don't get tied up, unless it's by a villain," Massachusetts retorts, "_Arthur_."

Another slap reddens her other cheek, and England leans down to grab the colony's chin. He knows that her face will have bruises soon enough. If she stops talking back that's all she gets.

"You forget, _poppet_," he leers, "That I was a villain long before you were even born. How else do you think I acquired my empire?"

Massachusetts glares, but says nothing.

"Oh, and by the by…"

England thumbs the colony's cheek bone, as if daring her to shed a tear at his words.

"You're no innocent, either. All those people sentenced to die for witchcraft? They were never truly guilty, were they, Sarah? You know what _real _magic looks like. Their blood is on your hands, and you were hardly more than a baby. You've recently had a taste for tarring and feathering my loyal subjects, haven't you? Do you know what that _does_ to a human? They're just trying to live their lives, Sarah…"

Still smirking, England pulls away from his captive. She's trembling, eyes glassy, holding back tears with every fiber in her body. The empire turns and walks out, not bothering to untie his colony and closing the door. He hears her quiet sob from inside.

It is not enough. Not yet.

But it is a start.

* * *

England waits a week to untie his captive. When he removes her restraints, she glares weakly and tries to stand. He barks out a laugh when she collapses. Already so weak, and she's only been deprived of food, water and sleep for a few days. He will win this war easily.

"Need some help, poppet?" he asks, using the same tone of voice he did when she was small and couldn't reach a high shelf. His hand, however, presses down on her back- effectively pinning her to the ground.

"Get your bloody hands off me," Massachusetts snarls, or tries to. Her voice is hoarse with thirst, and she doesn't even have the strength to lift her head. Her words are muffled and garbled by the carpet pressing against her cheek and lips.

"Still not willing to play nice? That's a pity, I was going to let you have some supper…"

"I don't want your food, your taxes, or you!" the prone colony shouts. England wrenches her up by her hair.

"Now see here," he growls, "_I _am your empire. You obey _me. _You will do as I say, or things will go bad for you. Do I make myself clear?"

"You're a tyrant."

"And you're an unruly little brat."

Tired green eyes clash against angry emerald ones. The colony and empire speak at the same time.

"I never claimed any different."

* * *

England is glad that his kind are not like humans: they can go months without food or water, as long as their land is not starved, they never have to eat. This is not to say that they do not feel the crippling hunger pains, or burning thirst, they just do not die from it. It makes for a convenient way to wear down a captive nation or colony's will power. Humans can take refuge in the fact that their inevitable death will free them from the torture. Nations must wake up every day knowing that their insolence will only extend their punishment into eternity.

It has been three months since England has captured Massachusetts. The colony is looking worse for wear. He thinks he's come a long way- the colony's stubbornness it wavering. Some days she acts as if she can throw him out of her house by sheer willpower alone, but other days she can't even look him in the eye.

He forces himself to stay at least a little drunk whenever he's in the house now, which is almost always. He reminds himself that a father must be strict with his children, and an empire even stricter. He's spoilt the colonies for too long, and now they think they can do as they please? His children will find that he is not to be meddled with.

* * *

After over a year, America finally manages to dislodge England from Massachusetts' Boston home. An entire regiment of troops storms the merchant house and hauls England out. The empire, America notes, smells heavily of rum. After making sure England is in secure hands, the younger man sweeps through the house looking for anymore British troops and the house's owner.

He finds her hiding in an upstairs bedroom, emaciated, pale and shaking.

"Massachusetts?" he murmurs softly, reaching for her, "Massachusetts, it's me. It's Papa…"

"P-Papa?" the younger colony murmurs, "It's… about time you got here…"

She gives him a weak smile, then collapses into his arms. America scoops her up and places her in bed, then asks a neighbor lady to make some broth. In the weeks that follow, the up-and-coming nation makes sure no one else- not military personnel, not maids- touch his daughter.

"You should be back with your regiment," Massachusetts informs him one afternoon. They are at the dining room table, eating Sheppard's pie. America shakes his head.

"I want to make sure you're alright."

"America, if you don't get out there and fight, we will _lose. _I can take care of myself now."

"But…"

"No buts!" Massachusetts snaps. America bites back a sigh. All of his children are stubborn, but Massachusetts is one of the most willful of them all.

"Get out there and fight, and there will be no need to protect me! I may only look like I'm fifteen, America, but I'm stronger than you know. Now hop to!"

Knowing that spark in her green eyes means that Massachusetts will throw him out on his ass if he argues, America nods his consent.

"Alright, alright. I'll be gone first thing in the morning, ok?"

* * *

True to his word, America is gone by the time the sun rises on the bay. Massachusetts goes about her morning chores and eats her breakfast, making sure everything in the house is put to rights. She hurries out of the house, getting a quick lunch at a nearby tavern and then meets her contact in the merchant district. Her accounts are dealt with neatly, protected for the next five years.

Back at home, she pulls a hidden key from her vanity that England had never found. It opens the secret drawer of her wardrobe which holds a nearly-completed uniform of dark, continental blue tailored to her measurements, along with a rifle, powder and ammunition.

"I can take care of myself," she murmurs.

* * *

A/N: Whew! That took a lot to write. . England's so mean, isn't he? He was slated to be a lot worse, but I do want him to be redeamable, so...

Yeah! In response to the Boston Tea Party, the British made Boston harbour an illegal port, trying to cripple the colonies' industry. They also took over Boston, but then got walled in by the Colonial Militia, then got kicked out in March of 1776. This was debatabley when the revolution really got underway.

I'm going to try to keep these chapters in chronilogical order. Let's see how I do! Review will spur me on~


	2. Flowers

Her hands shake as she enlists- _Benjamin Jones_- and Massachusetts tells herself that everything will be fine, that even if they somehow find out that her smooth, round face has less to do with age and more with gender, that there isn't much the colonists can do to their future state. This is what she tells herself, but she knows that her fears lie in a different place.

He might be acting like a brutal tyrant now, and she may truly hate him for what he has done to her people, her siblings and her Papa, but England is still her father. He is the man who bought her sweets and dolls and fine fabric- much better than homespun- for new dresses. He hired her a tutor and made him teach Massachusetts math and science, even though she was a girl.

"_So much of your industry relies on trade, poppet,"_ England had told her once, _"You need to more than sitting and sewing."_

The man who had taken for her first sea voyage (granted, it was only to Nantucket) is now going to be across the battlefield from her. She imagines him, in his red coat with the white cross belts, daring her to pull the trigger on the rifle her brother had taught her to shoot when she got her own house.

She looks out over her lands, the lands she will defend until she breathes her last, and a memory hits her, more painful that any bayonet wound, with more force than a cannonball:

_She is little, no larger than the average human toddler. Sitting in the garden, watching her older brothers and sisters play, she happily grabs a handful of summer wildflowers. She doesn't know the names of the blooms, but she knows the colors: yellow and blue and pink and violet. They are pretty things that make her smile, and if they maker her smile, certainly they will make England smile!_

_She pushes herself up with both hands, bending the stems of some of the flowers, and runs as fast as she can in the direction of the house._

"_Engw-"_

_Massachusetts cuts herself short when she sees Temperance, one of the housekeepers, round the corner. Right. Mustn't let the humans know what they are, or England will give her a spanking._

"_Lord Kirkwand!" she calls, and Temperance shoots her a Look._

"_Don't shout so, Sarah," the housekeeper reprimands. Sarah looks properly ashamed, but she makes a mean face when Temperance can't see._

"_Now, what was it you were looking for?"_

_"Lord Kirkwand!" Sarah exclaims, and holds out her ragged bouquet, "Pretty flowers!"_

"_Yes, I can see that," Temperance says with a smile, "Now, I believe Lord Kirkland is in his study, but we may put those flowers in…"_

_Before the worn housekeeper can offer to put the flowers in some water to keep them alive longer, Massachusetts is already hurrying upstairs to England's study. As fast as she goes, however, it is still very slow going in her frock and stays. Eventually, she reaches door to England's study. Even though she knows there is nothing to really be afraid of, Massachusetts still has to muster a bit of courage before knock._

"_Who is it?"_

_Massachusetts tries desperately not to wring her pretty little nosegay. England sounds bored and mean. What if he doesn't like her flowers?_

"_I said who is it?" the empire repeats, louder and angrier this time._

"_Sawah, Lord Kirkwand."_

_The door swings open and England is revealed. Massachusetts thinks he looks a little tired and pale. She thrusts her (now drooping) flowers at him, and the empire looks shocked a moment before scooping the tiny colony up into his arms._

"_Are those for me, poppet?"_

_Massachusetts giggles and nods. England gently eases them from her chubby hands, carrying her back into the office._

"_I shall treasure them forever," he says softly, selecting a thick book from one of the shelves in the room, Massachusetts tilts her head curiously._

"_Stowy?"_

"_Perhaps later, poppet, but I don't think you'd be much interested in this book. However, it is a very special book. You see, it make flowers last forever."_

"_Forevew?"_

_"Forever and ever."_

_England opens to the middle of the book and Massachusetts can see a handful of flattened flowers stuck to the pages._

"_Your Papa gave these to me when he was just about your size," England murmurs gently, placing the young colony's flowers in the book as well, giving them enough space to dry properly, "See how they're still as bright and beautiful as any flower outside? They even hold their perfume, still."_

_He tickles her nose with a pressed violet and places a kiss on her forehead before returning the blossom to its page and closing the book._

"_There, now. I'll have a piece of you forever."_

_Forever._

Forever.

Massachusetts bites back a sob as she comes to her senses. She's drifted down to the wharf, somehow, and takes comfort in the sound of the sea. Her hands are shaking as she breathes in sea air, and her resolve weakens. How do you fight someone you once loved so well?

Her mind drifts to days of hunger and thirst, being tied to a hard chair, hard slaps, her head being smashed backwards into walls, tightening hands at her throat…

He spits on the round to get the taste of bile of her mouth and adjusts her tricorne.

She has a war to fight.

* * *

A/N: A little fluff to tide you over while I do some research for the Winter of the Red Snow. Enjoy. 3


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